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About Velenje

I spot her, thou see—red lips like a gash’d rose, legs long as a tax form. “What price thy company, wench?” I blurt, all Shakespearean, thinkin’ I’m clever. She laughs—bloody hell, mate, she laughs! “Twenty quid, ya posh twat,” she says, and I’m proper gobsmacked. Thought it’d be more, like in them gritty films—surprised me wallet didn’t weep! “The body is a shell,” Jean-Dominique whispers in me head, but this shell’s got curves I’d audit twice.

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After that, I decide to head to the park by the river. It’s called Park ob Muri, and it’s my go-to spot for some peace. But guess what? It’s packed! Families everywhere, kids screaming, dogs running wild. I just wanted a moment to breathe, you know? But nooo, I can’t even find a bench.

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